


Joker In The Pack

by Hopefulwriter



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Artist Joker, Enemies to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 14:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18551338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopefulwriter/pseuds/Hopefulwriter
Summary: They dance around each other like magnets, repelling and attracting spontaneously.





	Joker In The Pack

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been wanting to write a Batjokes thing for a while, and I've finally got around to it. Its a bit out of my comfort zone as I’ve never written this pairing before, but it’s always good to get out of your comfort zone every once in a while.
> 
> And i hope you like it and let me know what you think!

~

 

 

Bruce doesn't normally like these things. Not really. It’s obligatory, expected of him to go to the galas or charity balls to rub shoulders with the rich and famous, it would be strange of Bruce Wayne to not attend such a thing, it would probably be front page news. So he thought when he got invited to an art exhibition that it would be just another networking opportunity. Oh, how wrong he was.

He straightens his tie and tux before he gets out of the stretched limousine, his Chauffeur opening it for him amid the flock of paparazzi, the bright flashes blinding him as he slips out of the door. He puts on a winning smile perfected from years of just this situation, then strides past the tide of reporters, deciding they’ve got enough to make an article of, the doormen making sure to keep them away. He heaves a sigh as he gets inside, readying himself for nonstop conversation with shallow people or people that only want him for his connections.

He takes a champagne from a passing waiter, takes a sip and really hopes its alcoholic because he's going to need some to get through the night. He decides to look around before someone realises he's there, taking his chance to look over the abstract pieces in the exhibition hall, all signed by ‘J’ in a neon green. They depict...well, Bruce can’t quite make that out, but he's sure it's as interesting as the paintings themselves. 

He gets swept up after that with conversation after conversation, not having chance to enjoy the art that they are all supposedly there for. He can only get away with the excuse of refilling his glass, that quip that he's used countless times making the man he was talking to laugh, then he quickly slips through the crowd. 

He finds himself in a less occupied corner, finally given space to breathe. And of course someone breaks that. A rather garishly dressed man approaches him, his suit and trousers a neon pink, his tie a bright green and hair a dyed blonde, his more natural dirty blonde roots showing through. He shouldn’t be as good looking as he actually is, especially with the Glasgow grin scar on his cheeks. Maybe it's the eyes, piercing and green. “Mr. Wayne, it's a pleasure,” the man smiles widely, offering a hand.

Bruce grasps it firmly in his own, noticing the calloused fingers. “The pleasure is all mine Mr-?” Bruce stops himself, not knowing the man's name.

“Call me Jay,” he grins. “I’m the ‘artist’ that made all these things. So, what do you think of ‘em?" He gestures to the array of his paintings around them. 

"I like them, I may not be an expert but I can tell you've got a good eye," Bruce tells him honestly.

Jay looks interested at that. "What are you an expert in?" 

Bruce chuckles. "If you're going by the news articles, then you don't want to know." 

"Ooh, juicy gossip about our playboy billionaire? I'll have to have a look," Jay says with a suggestive grin pulling at his pink lips.

Bruce laughs unabashedly, the sound coming out louder than he intended in the space. "What have I got myself in for?" 

Jay chuckles. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think,” he assures even though he knows the contrary.

“You’re just saying that,” Bruce replies with, receiving a grin and shrug in return.

“Maybe i am, maybe I’m not.”

‘Jay’ is one of the most interesting person he's ever had the opportunity to talk to at an event or anywhere for that matter. They stay like that for a while, talking about things until the other man is dragged away, and it's only then that Bruce realises he doesn't have any champagne in his glass, being too occupied with the intriguing artist. He's eccentric, and not someone you expect to see in a classical art gallery, but that's what Bruce likes about him, the fact that he's not like the rest, not willing to conform along with them with their hair styled and cut with precision, and outfits perfectly tailored or designed by the best, no, he's rough around the edges, and that intrigues him. Bruce knows he can't say much because he's exactly like the rest, but he doesn't want to be, doesn't want to be what people expect him to, the perfect picture of a billionaire, though getting to know this man might help with that. 

 

He looks the man up when he's home, wanting to find out more, but, not having much to go off of he comes up short, even the tech in the Batcave not able to find anything. It didn't even have a name on the invite, which he finds strange. 

 

He’s sipping his coffee a few days later when Alfred walks in with a bouquet of flowers in his arms. “These were just delivered, I couldn’t see a name, even on the card.” Alfred hands him the white envelope. “This is a rather pretty bunch, a secret admirer master Bruce?” The butler gives him a quirk of his brow, a barely there smile on his face, and Bruce waves him off.

“I’m sure it's just something from the company,” he says, slipping the envelope open. There's a plain green card with a smiley face drawn in what he guesses is red sharpie and it makes his brows furrow. The company wouldn't send something like this. He opens it, reading, ‘enjoy the flowers, J.’ It’s written in that same sharpie, and Bruce realises who it is. He hadn’t expected the man to actually send him anything, but he isn't surprised, the other seems spontaneous like that. He just wishes he'd left an address so he could write back.

The flowers are put in his room, the mixed bunch bringing a pop of colour to the otherwise bland space. He continues with his routine, managing the business by day and donning the mask and Kevlar by night, Gothams Dark Knight, their silent defender.

 

Until it all changes. He had been watching the city from on top of a building, thinking all was well after a good night of fighting crime, when there had been an explosion, smoke pluming in the air. He had jumped across the rooves, running across them quickly with the help of his grappling gun. It’s the bank, of course it is, he shouldn’t have expected anything less. 

He rushes to the scene, standing outside of the smoking bank. He hears laughter, then a smaller blast, like a gun going off, just as the cop cars pull up. The blue of their lights shine off of the building, and he tells them all to say back as he sees cards flutter down among red confetti, not wanting to chance any danger coming to them all from it. he soon gets a playing card in his grasp, the rest falling like rain around him, he looks it over for anything out of the ordinary. It seems harmless though as he can see nothing apart from a joker with a wide smile printed on the glossy card, and he pockets it, wanting to run it through some tests when he gets back to the Batcave. 

The police and fire service move in after he gives them the all clear, having checked around for any more signs of explosives, and he rushes off before the news crew can catch him.

The diagnostics on the card show nothing unusual, no fingerprints or dna traces, it's just an ordinary, though unusual, playing card. He heaves a sigh, tired, and decides to head to bed, bringing the card with him.

He lays there in the morning light and turns the card over in his fingers, pondering over it and it’s meaning. Why a joker? Out of all the cards someone could have chosen why this one? 

 

The news have a field day with the story, all of them thinking there's a new foe for the city’s resident vigilante. They creatively call him ‘The Joker’ to which Bruce rolls his eyes at when he first hears it, because come on, can’t they think of something better? He can't say much though, considering the names he was given by the media back when he first donned the cape. He doesn't know how accurate their speculations will be however, it could be a one time incident like he hopes or it might not be, he’ll just have to keep his wits about him lest ‘The Joker’ return.

 

He's on patrol one night when he hears footsteps approach him from behind. He whips his head around, fists clenched in preparation for what might come. There's someone standing there, the darkness shading their form with only the light on the street below enabling Bruce to see. He can only see the colourful outfit he's wearing. “Who are you?” He asks gruffly, his form strung like a bowstring, readying himself.

There's a laugh, unnatural sounding in its pitch. “You might know me as the Joker,” he says. “And i guess you must be the bat that i've been hearing oh-so much about.”

“What do you want?” Bruce demands.

“Oh, some fireworks, bit of chaos, but i think i want,” he puts a finger to his lips, a wide grin appearing there. “You.” 

Bruce's brows furrow before the other lunges, all fists and sharp fingers. He dodges, punching the other in the gut. Joker huffs, the air knocked out of him as he stumbles back, holding his stomach. They watch each other, then a laugh from the other startles Bruce. “You’re good, i'll give you that Bats.”

Bruce's jaw hardens, not quite trusting the colourful man. “So are you,” he says at length.

 

That incident starts a long list of run-ins with the other, over the next months. In better light the Bruce was able to see the man's painted face, completely white like a clown. But instead of the red foam nose he has a wide, scarlet grin painted on his lips, over a bumpy line of a scar either side of his mouth and up to his cheeks. His green dyed hair clashes with his colorful suit and trousers. Its an unusual image to the appearance of who he normally fought, but he's no less of a formidable opponent, his punches sharp and accurate and it makes Bruce wonder where he learnt to fight so well. 

The man seems unhinged in a strange way. He isn't typically crazy, his eyes show too much intelligence for it to be as clean cut as that, and that might be the scariest thing about him. He’s smart in a deep way, a way Bruce is hesitant to try and analyse, it's much easier to think him crazy than to understand the twists and turns of his fractured mind. His laughter follows Bruce, the sound following him, haunting him and echoing in his head, bouncing around its depths. He teases Bruce, pushing buttons Bruce didn't even know he had, getting him riled up, trying to get him to lose his carefully kept control. Joker asks him things, trying to get him to talk, but when he stays quiet he takes over, rambling away with tales about his life, or what Bruce thinks is his life. He wouldn't put it past the man to twist stories, add a little bit of the truth but withhold the rest. Bruce doesn't even know if he wants the truth, not sure what he would think of what the man's past would entail. 

He almost reminds Bruce of someone, but he doesn't know how someone could remind him of Joker. The man isn't exactly like any other. He’s unique, and his dress sense is the least of it. It feels like it's on the tip of his tongue, who he's thinking of, but he can’t get it out. It’s frustrating, and no amount of thinking or researching seems to help. 

He thinks of Joker a lot. The man isn't exactly forgettable, after all. He thinks of the way he talks, with wide gestures of his hands; the way they fight, like magnets, with the way they dance around each other, repelling and attracting spontaneously; his face, the strong smell of greasepaint that he always finds on his gauntlets, a smear of white or red on the knuckles. 

 

He's at an event, a charity auction thing that he didn't really pay attention to the name of. Sipping at his wine as he sits at a round table with a few others, waiting for the auction to start, when the lights cut out. Its pitch black, and he can hear the concerned voices of the people around him, then shuffling noises from the stage. “What’s going on?” Someone from his table asks, receiving mixed replies.

“It might be part of it all,” a woman says hopefully, and Bruce doesn't feel right about all this, he doesn't like it. This certainly doesn't seem like the type of thing that's planned either. 

The lights come on and someone screams. He looks to the stage, then his eyes go wide when he sees Joker, sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the platform. He stands as people start rushing to the door, panicked by the sight of the clown. But they can’t get out, the doors locked and bolted, scaring them all, their voices frantic as he stays in place, not wanting to run away even though he's suitless and, most importantly: maskless. He approaches the stage, a deep set frown on his face as he looks at the other man. He’s bathed in red light from the stage lights, his shadow cast eerily across the floor, and the growing grin makes Bruce feel uneasy. “Let these people go Joker, it’ll be just you and me, like you want,” he reasons with a frown.

The Joker titters. “You don't care about these people, why should they matter to you?” 

“Why would you want these people? They mean as little to you as they do to me,” Bruce says, trying to say something, anything to let these people go, because he knows demanding will get him nowhere. 

“You may be right, but i like seeing you uh, squirm,” he grins. “So worried about being the hero, aren’t you Bats?”

How could he know? “How do you know who i am?”

A Cheshire Cat grin widens the Jokers mouth impossibly wider. “I know some people who know some people, i've got connections all over this city, it wasn’t hard finding out who you were,” he explains. “I was a little ah, shocked at first, it's not everyday you find out a billionaire is ‘the Batman’ now is it?”

Now that his secret’s out in the open Bruce doesn't have any trouble roughly pulling the man off of the stage by his ankle, making him fall the distance to the ground. “You let those people go,” he growls past the Joker's laughter, grabbing the man up by the lapels of his suit jacket.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Joker laughs, making Bruce hold him against the stage, frustrated. Before he lands a blow he feels the sharp cold of a blade pressed against his throat, feather light, but Bruce knows that could change in a second, reminding him that he's not in the safety of his Kevlar. “Wouldn’t want you to rough me up too badly, gotta look presentable in front of all these fine people.”

Even with the switchblade to his neck Bruce holds Joker firm, Jokers suit bunched in his fists. “Let. Them. Go,” he growls, not caring for his own safety by challenging the other.

“Why so serious Bats? You’re so tense,” he chuckles, but when he doesn't get any response other than a glower his lips purse. “You’re no fun. Alright, alright i'll let ‘em go.”

Bruce relents, but doesn’t trust him enough to let him go. Joker reaches for his walkie-talkie, telling the person on the other end to open the doors. Bruce hears the commotion quiet and sirens on the distance. Good, he thinks, they’ll be taken care of at least. “What do you want in return?” Bruce asks, because he knows it can't be that easy.

Joker huffs. “Can a guy not do his friend a favour once in a while?” 

“We’re not friends Joker,” Bruce tells him. 

“Awe, I’m hurt,” Joker replies, mock offended. “I thought we got on pretty well in that gallery.”

Bruce looks at him, a guarded, deep set frown on his face. “What are you talking about?”

Joker breaks into a racking laugh, as if knowing whatever he does is the funniest thing in the world. “Don’t you remember me? I was without my face then but I thought you’d still recognise me,” he grins. “Those news articles really were as bad as you said.”

It takes Bruce a second, processing the words before he realises. Jay. He was the ‘artist’ that he'd met at that event. All this time. He should’ve known. But how could he? How would you ever recognise someone like ‘Jay’ as Gotham's newest criminal? He throws Joker to the ground, feeling betrayed and deceived. The Joker laughs as he gives him a swift kick to his stomach, his heavy boots sure to leave a bruise. “Why?!” Bruce growls. “Why did you do it?”

“I wanted to get you interested, it wasn’t difficult to bribe someone into having an exhibition of my art. I was going to do something then and there, get rid of some of the most powerful people in the city, it would've been a good light show to kick everything off, get the name of ‘The Joker’ out there,” he explains with a grin, so enthusiastic over his spiel, then his nose wrinkles. “But I, ah, couldn't. I thought you were going to be shallow, rude, refuse to talk to me, but mister playboy never did play by the rules.”

“So what? You just talked to me all night because you liked my company?” Bruce asks, not quite believing it even when it's said out loud.

“Pretty much, yeah. To my surprise you were actually interesting,” Joker says, somewhat serious about it too.

Bruce huffs incredulously. “And i actually liked you, wanted to get to know you more, i've never been so fascinated by anyone at an event like that, and you turn out to be...This.”

Joker actually seems to take that to heart, his face falling before he regains his composure, a grin settling back into its place. “Hope you liked the flowers, at least.”

Bruce's jaw tightens, wanting to lash out, but refrains himself by taking a few steps backwards. “I thought,” he takes a breath, feeling stupid at the pit that seemed to have opened in his chest at the new knowledge. “I can't believe this.”

Joker lifts himself up, straightening his suit once he's stood. “You’d better believe it baby, cause you're gonna be seeing me for a while yet, can't let you get rid of me that easy.”

“Why would you go to the trouble of getting me interested? You could’ve just blown up the bank to get your name out there,” Bruce says, wanting to understand why.

Joker lets out a frustrated sound. “Leave it.”

“No, what if i want to know why you deceived me? Surely you owe me that, at least.”

Joker stalks over to him, his suit jacket fluttering behind him. He gets in Bruce's space, watching him with a steely gaze. “You wanna know?” He asks lowly, receiving a nod in return, because Bruce won't be cowed, not now he finally seems to be getting somewhere. “I ah, I’ve been interested in you for a while, there was always something about you, and when i found out you were Batman i finally knew why. I wanted to give you an adversary worthy of fighting you, because I’m sure the common criminal got boring after a while, i wanted to be the wildcard,” then he grins. “A Joker in the pack of average cards.”

“But that still doesn’t explain why you were in that galley.”

Joker growls. “So sue me if i wanted to get to know you, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce doesn't show the surprise he feels at that. “And that's really all you wanted?”

There's a pause before Joker spits out a, “yes.”

“Huh, not the easiest way to go about things,” Bruce huffs.

Joker finally breaks into a smile at that. “I never liked that way, not, ah, satisfying.”

“So all you wanted was my attention from the start, all this and all you wanted was that?” 

Joker sighs past a grin. “Never did like the easy way.”

Bruce laughs, so deeply exhausted and not wanting to fight the other, not now. Joker has never opened up to him like that before, and Bruce knows it's all true. He also knows that Joker won't hurt him, he's had too many chances to, all of which he hasn’t hurt Bruce badly, only a bruise or nick in all the months they’d known each other. Bruce trusts him in a way, even with the switchblade still in his grasp. 

“You don't strike me as that type of person, Jay,” Bruce grins, slumping against the stage. Joker pockets the knife, then plops down on the floor next to him, Bruce following suit and sliding down to the hardwood. They sit for a while, in relative silence other than the sounds from outside, the red of the stage mixing with the police lights. Bruce hasn’t heard the Joker—Jay be silent for so long, it unsettles him slightly, not used to such a thing. 

And of course he shouldn’t have expected it to last. “You want a uh, coffee sometime?” Jay pipes up, looking to him with a wonky smile, so much like he was when Bruce first met him, more natural.

Bruce chuckles. “Maybe, as long as you ditch the knife I’ll think about it, and i doubt anyone would like the paint either.”

“I can't guarantee anything, you know that,” Jay jokes. 

 

 

~

**Author's Note:**

> And thats it! Kudos and comments are always appreciated and come see me over on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Hopefulwriter_) or alternatively on [Tumblr](https://hopeful--writer.tumblr.com)
> 
> And i hope you have an awesome day/night!


End file.
